Smoke
by headphone frenzy
Summary: No matter what angle you looked at him, Asch was a terrible person. Fluff. Luke x Asch.


Smoke.

Headphone does not own ToA.

Asch was a terrible person.

It didn't matter what angle you would look at him, he was a terrible, filthy, _awful_ person. I hated how he would swish his long hair, almost rubbing it into my face as to what he had that I couldn't. (Long hair, could you _believe_ him?! He had long sparkling hair that I just wanted to rip out of his--) But no matter how hard I tried to one up him and his 'gloriousness' of being the first, the original, the one that had knowledge and a past, I was always one step behind.

He was such a terrible person, and I hated him with ever ounce of strength my body could muster up. The way he walked with such composure, the way he talked with such eloquence yet meaning, why couldn't _I_ have that, why couldn't _I_ have been the one with the vocabulary and mental capacity. It was like some sort of funny game, like no matter how hard I tried, there was always something that neither of us could have, a nice warm home with loving 'parents' for words that could still hearts, the ability to turn tail and run for the ability to stand ground and not even flinch in the face of obvious defeat. It was as though some cruel thing was telling me that even though we were exactly alike we were polar opposites without a single useful purpose for each other then to upset one another.

"Luke?"

Asch was a disgusting person, and I couldn't help but feel like clawing his eyes out with every chance I saw him. Though, there was this other part of me that kept on shouting 'Violence won't solve anything!' but I promptly took that metaphorical part of my brain and shoved it back into a recessive state of silence. After all, Asch was an awful person, period, there was no way around it, and while he was decent on _occasions_ (very rare, but still within existence) I couldn't help but feel the violent urge to strangle him until his body went limp and his eyes rolled back into his skull.

"Hey, Luke."

While this urge was always there, there was also this other urge within my brain that told me something else entirely. It was this tiny little thing in the back of my skull, located closer to my left earlobe then anything, and I couldn't help but feel like this was the part of my head that Asch could control at will. It always shot out awkward phrases when he was near, or mentioned, or hell, even the mention of ASHES triggered it, and I would always feel this little pit growing into my stomach, like I was churning disgusting vomit, and it wouldn't dare erupt.

"Dreck!"

And this little trigger, it always left my eyes blank, and I would feel this cold sweat and on numerous occasions I would want to scream 'no' at the top of my lungs until all of the oxygen in the world was evaporated. It was this disgusting thing that always shot out a three word sentence with various nicknames and such attached.

"DRECK."

Back to reality.

"Whaaat?"

I turned around too quick, and I found myself face-to-face with the worst. His eyes of equal green, not emerald or jade or olive, no just _green_, staring into my own green eyes with this hatred in them that was laced with an undertone of worry yet loath. If it wasn't for the close proximity and the sameness that we held in our features, I wouldn't have been able to even think of those emotions swelling in his eyes.

"You were spacing out."

"So?" That little thing in the back of my head was going haywire, shouting out random blurbs and phrases, and all I could do about it was clench my teeth as tightly as they could be locked, and ignore the want and need to rip the retina's out of my twin's eye sockets. His face was mildly laden with concern, and I wanted to just punch some sort of dent into it to get rid of that 'perfectness' that he took pride in having.

"And you are currently getting on my last nerve."

"Why?"

"You keep on making these disgusting 'sighs'." Typical Asch. There was nothing new about him within the whole however-too-long that I've had to deal with even _knowing_ him, let alone being within his disgusting _presence_. If it was possible to shove a hand down someone's throat so far that it shattered his entire spine, I would have used that method by now to get rid of his nonsensical existence.

"You got a problem with it?"

"Yeah, I do actually!"

"Well, what'cha gonna do about it?"

If someone had put a kettle on the stove, and it was now overheating to his hissing tension, it would have been the perfect background noise to explain this scenario.

"I'm gonna rape you if you don't stop."

**What was I supposed to say to **_**that**_**? '**I'd like to see you try?' Not within a million years! It's like someone saying to you 'Here have some candy, and then we can go into my house so that I can stretch out your ten-year old butt.' It just _wasn't right_.

"Yeah well--." Out of retorts, out of retorts! What do I do?!

"Yeah, I knew that'd stop you."

"Grrr."

He was going to walk away, and I was going to loose _yet another_ battle of wits, of vocabulary, and I knew that unless I did some quick thinking there would be another 'loose' tally in my column. Then, I had a bolt of inspiration, something he would never think I would reply even _with_years of studying slang terms and slogans that were more then mildly offensive.

"It's not rape if you're willing!" Shit, wrong retort.

This, obviously piqued his interest, and I knew almost _too _well what would happen after this, with or without his or my consent. It was like at this moment that little thing in the back of my skull, those little words in the bottom of my consciousness took over my mouth and without a single word past that his voice invaded my mind.

'I knew it!' Was all he said, over and over, and with every word extra I felt the pit in my stomach growing and stretching like some bad sitcom was being starred in my entrails. The feeling of everything convulsing yet expanding, of words without a leash that wondered off into _his_ mind. The filthy, terrible, _Asch's_mind. I felt betrayed by my own words, my own phrases, but I couldn't help but try to remember how I hated three word phrases, with their many combinations and changes, add-ons and nakedness.

"Goddamnit, Asch! Get out of my head!"

"I'm so terrible aren't I, yet you still—"

"No I don't! That's disgusting, you're disgusting, filthy, I hate you, I hate you, **I hate you**!"

"If it's so disgusting then why is your brain so paralyzed, why is it screaming so loudly?"

"Because--!" I obviously had no reply, and if the disgusting worm hadn't weaved his way into my private thoughts, then he would have never known that my lack of a retort, reply, answer, was because it was all true. Every ounce in my body that I hated him, no, _loathed_ him with, was also the opposite, and I couldn't help but feel like some sort of guinea pig in some experiment.

"Because you know it is TRUEEEEE. Say it!" I'm not sure how I managed this, but I was now on my knees, covering my ears, clenching my eyes shut as to never see him again, and without another word, he could see everything I saw, the delving darkness of nothingness. I could feel his eyes hovering over me, ready to pounce on my weaknesses at any moment.

I wanted so badly to just yank out his hair.

I wanted so much just to take his blade and tear him apart limb from sliced and diced limb.

And I would have loved with every ounce in my body to just watch him writhing in pain and agony and begging for me to put him back together because for Lorelei's sake _Asch was my fucking original and without him I, the stupid replica, wouldn't even exist_!

But no, that wasn't the case. I didn't do any of the things I wanted to do so much, yet couldn't find within my short hair and girly walk to come to terms with. 'I'm already stained my hands enough' I reasoned with myself, but even that was such a weak gesture that the disgusting creature invading my head could see through it like a weak cigarette smoke, fresh yet without any real purpose.

"Say it."

"Never."

"Say it or I'm going to get violent."

"Not in a million years."

With that, he took my right hand, revealing one of the eyeballs I tried so hard to cover up, and while I was busy trying to squeeze out all of the light that attempted pooling into my eye socket, he was busy drawing his sword with the typical yet hollow '_shink_' noise. What happened next was awful, and I felt like my entire body was going to simply convulse into one massive blob of nothingness. With his right hand, he held his blade, carefully sharpened yet with a certain dullness that suggested use, and used the tip to make a thin stroke over my palm, beads of red pooling up around the surface. My eyes shifted upwards, telling myself that Asch was a terrible, awful person, and yet I didn't have it within me to admit defeat.

He lightly twisted the tip into my fingers, slowly and precisely, showing that he had obviously done this before on whatever occasion he pleased. By the fourth finger, I was squirming uncomfortably, yelling for him to stop, pleading softly in the back of my head, yet never truly voicing much of anything from that traitorous department.

"Say it and I'll stop."

"Alright! Enough! I love you, okay? You happy?"

"No."

"**What do you want from me**?!"

"I want you to mean it."

"How am I supposed to do that, huh? I already said it didn't I?"

"Kiss me."

"Oh fuck you."

I quickly yanked my hand back from him, trying my hardest to hide the small beads of salty water that seemed to escape from the small ducts in my eyes. If there was anyone or anything I could hate with such a passion yet feel completely compelled to love with an aching beat from my heart, that someone would have to be Asch. Though, not even days after that, I found myself quickly changing how I felt about the cruel and inhumane yet respected and soft spoken male:

Asch was a stubborn skirt-chasing pervert.

FUCK IT IN A BUCKET THAT IS SHIT.

D


End file.
